


You Wanna Be on Top?

by Cerulea



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adorable Obliviousness, Bisexual Derek Hale, Bisexual Stiles Stilinski, Demisexual Derek Hale, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Fluff, Jay from ANTM makes an appearance, M/M, Though he never says it outright, Violence-free Sweetness, because he’s Derek, friends to something more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24129817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerulea/pseuds/Cerulea
Summary: Stiles was pretty sure this whole “Have you ever considered modeling?” thing only happened to like, movie stars and the like. But here they are, Derek and Stiles, at the mall of all places, being asked if they have any interest in getting in front of a camera.And now Stiles can’t stop hearing the theme song to “America’s Next Top Model” in his head.Or that time one of those mall-of-America “you could be a model” types tries to parent-trap Derek and Stiles into admitting they’re 300% gay for each other.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 9
Kudos: 224





	You Wanna Be on Top?

**Author's Note:**

> Ok - it occurs to me after the fact that this title sounds SO LASCIVIOUS and I am so sorry for the misleading title because this is literally not sexy at all. I called it that because I was watching Brad Mondo’s “Hairdresser reacts to America’s Next Top Model Makeovers”. And if you’ve ever seen ANTM then the theme songs is probably burned into your brain forever.  
> Anyway, here’s some violence free sweetness for our troubled hearts.

They’re in the mall.

Stiles repeats - THE MALL. Never in his effing life did he ever think he would be at the mall with Derek Hale. But, they need something, they’re on the way somewhere, and the mall is on the way to their destination. Derek demanded to stay in the car, but Stiles made one off-the-cuff joke about leaving wolves locked in the car on a hot day, and cracking the window for him if he promises not to growl at passers by and Derek climbed out of the car in a tight-lipped fury.

This is exactly the kind of dissonance of reality that Stiles craves to experience with Derek. He wouldn’t say he’s obsessed with him, he’s matured some over the years so there are none of the borderline-stalkerish antics of his infatuation with Lydia, but Stiles is definitively invested in Derek. Yeah. That sounds better. More supportive, less _I’ll be watching you from the bushes outside your house later_.

Regardless of syntactical redressing, the reality is that Stiles has become fixated on Derek; not only because he’s handsome and sarcastic and smart as a whip, but because his edges have softened and he allows himself to be cared for to an extent. There was a time when dropping by to make sure he was alive would have sent Derek into a frenzy of suspicion and territorial rage. Now he very nearly smiles when Stiles arrives unannounced at his door. He even seeks Stiles’ friendship out. He’s become more approachable to Stiles, in a lot of ways, but he is so often still the surly, threatening Derek Stiles will always have a fondness for that Stiles loves the eternal push and pull of their relationship.

He longs for moments of dissonance wherein the sight of Derek Hale doing some mundane thing is so absolutely jarring that Stiles becomes goddamned elated. Like Derek Hale eating an ice cream cone. Derek Hale waiting in line at the DMV. Derek Hale fighting with the coin-operated laundry. And yes, Derek Hale at the mall.

It’s bizarre, looking over at him, all brooding and unimpressed as they walk by The Icing. Stiles can’t help but grin and Derek glares at him for it. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“It’s the mall,” Stiles lies innocently, “Who doesn’t love the mall?”

Derek’s glare intensifies.

“Oh lighten up, Sourwolf. If you promise not to start any fights I’ll buy you those mini cinnamon-sugar pretzels.”

“Fine,” Derek says with finality, and Stiles smirks in victory. He should’ve known he was celebrating too soon. Derek says, with the air of a man extremely pleased to be lighting a cherry bomb, “But I wanted salted. Not sugar.”

Stiles gapes at him, “Dude. No. The sugared ones are the best.”

“The sugared ones feel like they’re covered in sand. Salted is clearly better.”

“Ohhhhhh hell no!”

They are bickering their way down the wide hallways and Stiles tries not to make it obvious that he has no idea where they’re going. Maybe Derek does, but more than likely he’s just following Stiles’ lead hoping that his increased familiarity with the mall means that he’s leading them to their destination. But the mall has always been a bit of a maze to Stiles and he’s always been more of a _wander until you stumble into it_ kind of shopper than a Directory checker. Besides, he’s drawing it out to spend as much time in this bizarre situation with Derek as he can. He’s totally unaware of his surroundings, tracking the motion of Derek’s full-body eye roll when the rare and unthinkable happens -

Some stranger approaches for the singular purpose of salivating over Derek and his otherworldly hotness.

A shock.

Stiles is irritated before he can even reason out why.

A gentleman in a vest and harshly coiffed dyed-silver hair steps directly into their path. Derek stops in plenty of time that it looks casual and calm, but he has to throw a hand out to soccer-mom-save Stiles from mowing the guy down, so Stiles’ whole body jerks and reverberates clumsily.

The vested guy looks them up and down, eyes hesitating judgmentally over Stiles in his calamity. He’s holding a clipboard and has the air of a man who is too busy to even begin to deal with Stiles’ shenanigans. His posture is straight and confident, something almost Lydia-eske in the way that he carries himself, his voice direct as he says, “Gentleman. How are you?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before barreling on, looking directly at Derek, “Have you ever considered modeling?”

Stiles gapes. He thought this only happened to like... movie stars in Calabasas. Of course, where there’s Derek there’s opportunity to make a mint on photography. Derek though, is closed off tightly. His face is entirely impassive, his whole demeanor going imposing in a way that Stiles remembers once having very confusing terror-boners about. The gentleman before them, to his credit, remains totally un-cowed.

“No,” Derek grunts flatly.

It sounds rude even to Stiles’ ears. The guy’s eyebrows raise judgmentally, entirely fearless in the face of Derek’s subatomic irritation, and his lips purse in an expression of _fuck you very much_ as he marks down something on his clipboard. Stiles is mid-snort when the guy’s attention is suddenly focused entirely on him and he says, “And you?”

Stiles blinks at him. Then he looks at Derek and blinks at him. Then he looks back at the vested guy and says, “What?”

The guy’s eyebrows raise again and he repeats, “Are you interested in professional modeling?”

Stiles blinks blankly at him. “Who - me?”

“Yes,” he says tersely, impatient. “Just because your boyfriend doesn’t have any interest-”

“We’re not-” Derek says at the same time that Stiles all but shouts, “Oh- he’s not!”

“Oh,” the guy says, looking between them. Then his eyes land on Stiles, scan him from forehead to knees, and he relaxes his stance with zero subtlety, popping a hip. “Good to know,” he says smirking at Stiles.

Stiles can feel Derek tense at his elbow. Stiles himself doesn’t feel tense so much as worried that they’ve slipped into an alternate universe. A man - a grown, so efficiently groomed and handsomely fashionable man - has never come on to Stiles. Ever. And while he is solidly bisexual and therefore not opposed, he is unpracticed enough to find himself utterly up-ended.

“Well listen gorgeous, Tenacity Modeling has a pop-up studio right here,” he gestures to the brightly lit storefront beside them, “and you’re exactly what we’re looking for. Do you mind if I ask your sexuality?”

Stiles gapes, blinks stupidly, then, in a moment of panic announces, “Bisexual,” more loudly than necessary. He feels Derek’s eyes boring holes into him and wonders, for one terrified second, if it’s ok. Stiles knows him well enough to know he’s not bigoted, but sexuality is a topic they’ve stayed far away from. For good reason. Between Derek’s previous abuse and Stiles’ beyond-burgeoned romantic affection for Derek, the topic is a veritable minefield of potentially friendship-destroying conversations.

The vest guy, however, seems extremely pleased. “Fantastic!” He says, eyes lighting up in genuine joy. “Tenacity is a younger agency that mostly focuses on representation of under-represented groups, specifically the LGBTQ community. Here’s our website,” the guy steps up to Stiles’ side, coming in close to share his phone-screen, and again Stiles feels Derek’s body tighten in defense, preparing to fight if needed. Stiles isn’t sure what to expect, but the website seems kind of legit. It’s full of tasteful but attractive black and white portraits of all kinds of people, taken against the same background, and at the bottom of each is a name and a small description, usually including their sexuality or gender. They seem to have cast a very wide net in terms of diversity.

It’s actually... really cool.

Stiles is comfortable with himself. His friends - those who know the truth - are accepting of him, and so is his dad. He’s never felt particularly rejected for this part of who he is. But still, there’s something intangibly moving in the photographic evidence of not being alone.

“Tenacity is a subset of a much larger firm that mostly does commercial work - catalogue, fashion, that kind of stuff. But that’s all part of the big, machine, you know. So we don’t have as much opportunity for diversity or artistic expression. The purpose of this,” vested-guy goes on excitedly, “is to put together a massive enough album that we can express in our own small way not only how many of us there really are out there, but that we’re so varied. No one person is the same, and we are accepting of all of it. The real heart of the project is representation. Showing everyone as they are so that maybe if someone else out there wants to feel like they belong, or like they’re not alone, this site is here to give them that.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, voice rudely betraying how effected he actually is. “That’s actually... cool.”

The guy smiles brightly, seeming suddenly a lot less intimidating and says, “If you want to be a part of it, it only takes a few minutes. And I mean, you’re gorgeous so...”

Stiles blushes, laughs awkwardly and for some reason looks immediately to Derek. Derek looks at him blankly for a moment before seeming to remember himself, and shrugging awkwardly. 

“Um,” Stiles say, “I mean... ok?”

“Great! I’m Jay,” vest-guy says, grabbing Stiles by the hand and leading him into the storefront. It’s bright and professional, with a front counter, some framed art and signs with quotes, and a row of chairs. Jay hurries up to the counter, “This is Anya, she’ll get you set up with some paperwork so that we can get any information you’re willing to share - you know, for the blurb. And the consent form and of course a little swag,” he waves a fridge magnet at them that appears to have a rainbow flag and the name of the website.

“Hi,” Anya waves pleasantly. She’s pretty and delicate, utterly feminine with glossy lips and long chestnut brown hair and dark eyes and Stiles’ chest tightens because she’s _exactly_ Derek’s type. “You guys are perfect,” she says happily, “you’re both so handsome!” Then she turns to Jay and says, “So two individual sets and a couple shot?”

When Stiles and Derek don’t immediately jump in to correct her Jay looks over at them with a quirked eyebrow and a poorly hidden smile and says, “I guess that remains to be seen.”

Stiles, catching on slowly, has to swallow down his suddenly furiously beating heart and says, “Oh - no, it’s me. Just... just me.” And then because he can’t quite while he’s ahead, “Woo - the gay one. Not - I mean - bisexual actually. Not that you - oh well I guess you do need to know,” he laughs weakly.

Anya quirks her head but the look she gives him is amused and indulgent more than judgmental, which Stiles is thankful for because she’s so beautiful and he’s really tired of being the buffoon among supermodels in his life. Jay, on the other hand, is looking at him like Stiles has really inconveniently spilled some of his brain on Jay’s polished floors. “Rrrright. Well, I’ll go make sure T is set up.” He disappears behind a door.

Anya motions them toward two waiting room style plastic chairs and then hands them each a clipboard and a pen, and of course their free magnet. “Ok, so this is all voluntary of course. Whatever you’re comfortable sharing is great, whatever you’re not is absolutely fine too. You don’t even have to use your real first name if you want, we just like to have something to put at the bottom of the page.”

She completely ignores the fact that Derek wasn’t technically supposed to be involved, and out of deference to a pretty lady, Stiles assumes, Derek takes the clipboard.

“Ok, I’m just gonna finish what I was doing over here and I’ll let you know when they’re ready.”

She smiles and then clicks away on her stilettos and Stiles can’t even help but watch. She moves like a supermodel would. Like Cindy Crawford; someone who’s comfortable and graceful on long legs and shoes that are practically stilts. She’s probably never tripped over a shoelace in her beautiful, graceful life. She probably photographs beautifully without even trying.

All of a sudden Stiles feels very nervous. He looks down at the paper, at the blank lines that he’s supposed to fill and suddenly realizes that he’s going to be photographed. He looks down at himself - the unimpressive t-shirt and worn plaid. Then he looks over at Derek - the significantly more expensive v-neck t-shirt and collarless lightweight leather jacket. He really does look like an actual model. He has to look away from him, so he busies himself with the paperwork. Stiles is torn between wanting to make Derek wait outside during the photos, and feeling like he can’t go in there without him. Even if it’s embarrassing, he’d feel better knowing Derek was there. He pretty much always feels better about everything when Derek is there. And if Stiles asks, Derek will stay. In fact, Derek’s pretty much always at his side these days.

Stiles nearly cracks his pen in half.

It shouldn’t have taken Stiles so long to figure it out, but suddenly he does and he almost swallows his tongue - Jay didn’t approach them because of Derek’s unnatural hotness. He approached them because he assumed they were a couple.

Stiles heart starts jack-rabitting in his chest.

Another gay guy looked at them and thought that they could be together. That Stiles and Derek, might be an actual thing. That’s like... some sort of gay seal of approval.

“Stiles,” Derek interrupts with his typical gruff get it together tone.

“Is this crazy? This is crazy right? Like... they’re gonna drug me and I’ll wake up in a sparkly neglige on some oil tycoon’s yacht in Eastern Europe.”

“Stiles, I’m not gonna let you get TAKEN-ed.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that. And also the confirmation that you did, once, see a movie. But it doesn’t give me comfort from the sinking feeling that like, we’re being coaxed into a demon’s lair or something.”

“You’re being coaxed. I’m just waiting for my pretzel.”

Stiles glares.

Anya and Jay come back out and Anya angelically clicks her way over to their seats and takes back the clipboards saying, “Ok, we’re all ready for you guys. Who wants to go first?”

Stiles practically jumps out of his seat gesturing to Derek, “Oh, no, he’s straight.”

“Actually I’m not,” Derek says casually, handing over the clipboard. He’s wearing that forced-calm demeanor he uses when he’s trying to seem unconcerned and cool, and he’s doing it really well. Stiles would know, because he’s staring at him very intently.

Stiles looks over and sees Jay and Anya smiles at each other, far too pleased. He looks back at Derek, his mouth hanging open and his face incapable of functioning in light of this information. Derek... not straight... meaning... what? What does it mean? Can it mean... guys? Dudes? Bros? Are potentially included in Derek’s sexual or romantic interests? Stiles is a guy-dude-bro.

Is there... potential?

“Stiles,” Derek bites out, frustrated.

Stiles snaps his mouth shut and says, “Sorry. I just...”

“Are you gonna be a dick about this?” Derek asks using that harsh tone he reserves for people he likes who he’s worried are about to me mean to him. Which is... Stiles. Stiles is the only one he uses that overtly defensive tone for.

Oh God.

Stiles brain is jello, so in lieu of an actual verbal answer he merely holds up his rainbow-flag magnet in simultaneous defense and show of support. He sees Anya and Jay share another look. Derek merely rolls his eyes and stalks away into the other room. Stiles flounders, getting up to follow him and catches Anya’s eye on the way by, who gives him dual thumbs up and a big smile. He nearly trips over himself on his way into the room.

The photographer is another friendly face, brown skin decorated with colorful tattoos, curly hair shaved on the sides and unrestrained up top, and dimples out in full force as they are introduced to Stiles and Derek. They wave with a smile and say, “Hey, I’m T.”

T is a fidgety and curious presence, and utterly non-threatening. Their easy smile, bright plaid button-up and square plastic-frame glasses put Stiles somehow at ease. He feels, in a strange way, that T is like a non-binary version of himself.

“Ok so, who’s first?”

Stiles and Derek and exchange a glance and Stiles cocks his head to the side curiously when he spots the abject terror in Derek’s eyes. Derek shoves him forward.

“Uh,” Stiles stumbles slightly, “me I guess.”

“And you’re...” T glances at the paperwork, “Stiles?”

“Yep.”

T fist-pumps, “Yes. I love it when I guess it right.” Stiles can’t help but laugh. T is good at putting people at ease, and Stiles is thankful because the only phots he’s ever had taken have been for the yearbook. “So we’re just gonna talk, and I’ll take some candids. That’s kind of our style, a little more relaxed so we see you kind of in your natural habitat.”

“Cool, cool,” Stiles says, rubbing his hands together. It turns out to be easier than Stiles thought. He’s good at talking, and T makes in phenomenally easy, being good humored and relaxed. He doubts they’re getting any photos that are worth putting on the internet, but the experience is interesting at least.

“Hey, I don’t wanna freak you out but can we do some without the plaid?” T’s head pops up over the camera like prairie dog.

Stiles falters, “Uh...”

“It’s totally cool if you’re not comfortable. Don’t feel stressed. It’s just swallowing you a little,” T laughs.

Stiles shrugs, “Yeah ok.” He pulls off his shirt awkwardly and T laughs when Stiles shouts “Hey!” At the sound of the shutter-click while he discombobulatedly struggles with it, which then causes Stiles to laugh. Once the shirt is off he looks around for somewhere to put it and spots a wide-eyed, strangely small-looking Derek off to the side, all but hiding behind a lighting instrument. Stiles chucks the shirt at him and smirks when Derek catches it easily and glares.

Stiles and T chat for another minute or two, and just as Stiles is starting to bake under the bright lights T pops up again announcing, “I think we’re good!”

“Awesome,” Stiles says, unable to stop himself from jogging over to T and peeking over their shoulder at some of the shots as they thumb through.

“Ok, you’re up,” T announces.

Derek walks to x taped on the floor almost... nervously. He’s got a death-grip on Stiles’ plaid shirt and it isn’t lost on Stiles that T’s tone is especially kind and careful when they ask if Derek would mind letting it go.

Derek looks down at his hands like he hadn’t realized he’d been holding it, then seeks Stiles out, chucking it at him. Stiles catches it clumsily before putting it back on, watching Derek as he struggles to answer T’s very easy, casual questions.

Stiles stands to T’s side, peering at Derek from the photographer’s angle, sneaking a peak at the camera and something in him aches at how horribly vulnerable Derek is coming across on screen. He’s clearly in his head and it’s making him feel exposed, and Derek’s given enough of the carefully hidden parts of himself; these people don’t need that from him.

“Hey Der,” he calls, getting his attention, “should I do that thing like they do for pet photography and get a squeaky toy? So you know where to look?”

Only Derek will see through to the obvious hidden insult of the dog joke of it, which makes Stiles smirk viciously. It has the desired effect, Derek focuses all his energy on glaring at Stiles, his body relaxing into the comfort of a familiar situation, vulnerability disappearing in an instant. When Stiles laughs, as he often does in recent years, when Derek dons his faux-angry, put-out attitude, Derek merely rolls his eyes indulgently before a smile is just barely eked out of him.

“I’m pretty sure the puppy mill down the hall has one of those squeaky hot dogs,” Stiles adds, insides burning bright with pride and pleasure when Derek crosses his arms toughly but can’t help a crooked half-smile.

That’ll be the one, Stiles knows it.

Derek’s always handsome, but there’s something particularly pretty in the way he pretends to be tough when all he wants to do is smile.

T agrees to as much when they look at Stiles with a thankful smile and nod. Stiles winks conspiratorially back before launching himself out from the shadows toward Derek.

“That wasn’t half bad,” Stiles jokes.

Derek raises his eyebrows then deadpans, “You have your shirt on inside out.”

Stiles reaches behind himself awkwardly to check, only to see that Derek is wrong. He looks back to Derek and, ah yes. Not wrong. Just lying to be a dick.

Stiles glares back at him, but he’s too happy right now for it to have any heat, and Derek seems very pleased with himself indeed for the little trick.

“Well, thanks guys,” T says. “You did great!”

Derek and Stiles each step forward to shake T’s hand before exchanging thanks and goodbyes and heading out. Jay and Anya spring apart from where they’ve clearing been whispering and they smile and Stiles and Derek brightly.

“How’d it go?” Anya asks.

“Good - I think?” Stiles shrugs. Derek says nothing because, he’s Derek.

“Thanks so much for being willing to be a part of it,” Jay say sincerely. “Here’s the card with the site and the official email if you have any questions or anything. I got your email off the form, Stiles, so I’ll send you a link when the stuff posts.”

“Awesome, thank you.”

“No, thank you. Have a good one,” he smiles, making significant eye contact with Stiles.

Stiles waves awkwardly before Derek is all but yanking him out of the store, when Stiles looks back over his shoulder Anya and Jay are high-fiving.

Derek and Stiles continue down the hall in silence for a few minutes. To Stiles the walk feels like deja vu, like he’s dissociated out of the correct timeline somehow. Did all of that even just happen?

He sighs, shaking his head. “Ok. Well. That’s the weirdest outing we’ve ever been on.”

“I didn’t know you were bisexual,” Derek blurts.

“Oh. Uh. Yeah. You probably just missed the newsletter. I think it went out when you were still living in a train car.” Derek rolls his eyes. “I didn’t know you were... not unequivocally straight,” Stiles saysin the absence of an actual label.

“Recent development,” Derek says quietly.

“Oh,” Stiles says, not sure how he feels about that. “Well, hey. You know we’re all cool with it, right? Like if you don’t want to talk about it, this mouth is Alcatraz,” Stiles points at his lips even as Derek grimaces at the wording, “no secret gets out. But the pack, everybody, we would like... you know, support you and stuff.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

Stiles blinks at him, swallows, his throat suddenly dry. He shrugs. “Didn’t really think it was news. Sort of figured everyone knew.”

“Lie,” Derek says too eagerly.

Stiles rolls his eyes so hard it moves his whole body. It’s a cheap tactic to buy time and not look Derek in the eye, which Derek must know. There’s no point. After what they just did, there’s no point in the lie. “Ok, fine. Everyone else pretty much knows but I didn’t want to bring it up with you because I didn’t want things to be weird.”

Derek frowns, and there’s a lance of hurt in it that makes Stiles’ heart ache. “You thought I wouldn’t accept you?” Derek asks, voice uncommonly small.

“No - no, Derek,” Stiles reaches out, clamping a hand over Derek’s forearm before he can run away. “That’s not - it isn’t-” Stiles sighs, rubbing his forehead then admits with a shaking voice, “I like spending time with you. Like... a lot. Like _a lot-_ a lot. And I was afraid if you knew, then you’d _**know**_ , and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I just, I’ve liked being with you all the time so much, I was afraid that if it got too obvious how much I like it, I’d make things weird and I’d do to you what I did to Lydia and make you feel all objectified and like we couldn’t be friends.”

Derek stares at him, face beautiful even when its blank. “Oh.”

Stiles sighs, taking his hand away. This was exactly what he didn’t want. Derek rendered mute and awkward in the face of Stiles’ unrequited feelings. But before he can retreat Derek reaches out and grabs Stiles’ forearm in a mirror of Stiles’ of hold. “What if I liked it as much as you?” Derek says gruffly, like it’s a threat.

Stiles heart beats in his throat, he swallows thickly, “Derek, I don’t know if you’re getting what I’m saying.”

“Stiles, I get it,” he grunts irritably.

“Do you?”

Derek rolls his eyes, a blush pinking his cheeks that piques Stiles’ notice. “I get it,” he says again quietly, sincerely.

“So... ok what does that actually mean?”

Derek glares.

“You know me Derek - you can’t mince words with me here, ok? Man up.”

“You man up!” Derek challenges, affronted.

“Fine! I have romantic feelings for you and finding out you might like guys rocked my brain into next week.”

There is is again. That beautiful, frustrating blank expression. It takes a moment but Derek gathers himself up and faces Stiles like a man and says, “Same.”

Stiles blinks, “Really?”

Derek growls with frustration, “Stiles - what do you think I’ve been trying to say to you for the past five minutes!?”

“Sorry, sorry, I just... Wow. Ok. So... Sorry just to be clear - you have romantic feelings for me.”

“Yes,” Derek bites. “They’re occupying a space dangerously close to the desire to murder you.”

“So you might like... want to kiss me?” Stiles barrels on.

“Or throw you over the railing into the food court.”

“Let’s save manhandling for the second date.”

Derek rolls his eyes, “Where are we going on our first date?”

“Actually, I think this might be our first date.”

Derek snorts.

“Oh yeah. We shared a bizarre and intimate bonding experience in the company of strangers and now we’re gonna share pretzels and stroll romantically.”

“Stroll?”

“Yeah. I want a cinnamon-sugar mall-kiss. It’s on my bucket list,” Stiles boasts confidently, because it’s the only way he can continue to live without entirely combusting outside a Limited Too, brain and body buzzing with the knowledge that he and Derek just went from a nebulous potential to a confirmed reality.

“That so?” Derek smirks, and it’s devastating.

“Yep,” Stiles chirps. “But you know what’s not on my bucket list-”

“Here we go.”

“-a mustard and salt kiss. Because here’s the thing...”

Stiles talks and talks and talks until they’ve made so many loops around the place that the pretzels have been gone for an hour and one of the ladies at the puff-paint t-shirt kiosks is starting to glare every time they go by. He talks to keep them moving, to keep this moment going as long as he can. Until eventually he comes up for air, and when he looks at Derek the man is staring back, a coy little smirk on his face, eyebrows raised.

“...What?” Stiles says, heart a little jittery at the sight of such an indulgent smile.

“Do you wanna get dinner?” Derek asks, sincere.

Stiles blinks at him. “Like... date-dinner, or like I’m starving because we’ve been doing cardio around the mall all day.”

“That does not constitute cardio.”

“Derek.”

“Date-dinner.”

“Oh. Oh, ok. Then... yeah.”

“Good.” Derek turns and walks out the automatic doors to the exit. Stiles scrambles to follow and when he gets outside he’s relieved by the fresh air, the sun dipped low in the sky, and Derek steady at his elbow.

“Oh, just one thing,” Derek says, turning to him, face serious.

“Ok, what?”

Before Stiles can think Derek’s hands are cradling his face and their lips are pressed together. It’s sweet and warm and pretty, if a kiss can be pretty. When Derek pulls back, his eyes are indescribable hazel-green and Stiles isn’t entirely in control of his body when he pulls him in for more. When Derek coaxes his lips open and their tongues touch and they really get down to it, a part of Stiles just breaks. But, not like glass. Not like a bone. More like a glowstick. He feels bright and hot, lit up from the inside. Everything - time, place, the universe - seems to cease until all there is, is the two of them, Derek’s hold soft and careful on his face, Stiles’ hands appreciative and wanting, sliding up and down Derek’s back.

Until a loud car speeds by and a bunch of definitively teenaged voices hoot and whistle their obvious appreciation of the display.

They break apart, Stiles utterly dazed watching the laughing teenagers speed away. When they’re out of sight, Derek and Stiles look at each other and Stiles can’t help but huff an elated laugh.

“Cinnamon-sugar kiss,” Derek says quietly, with a cocky smile. He grabs Stiles’ hand and threads their fingers for the walk back to the car.

Two weeks later, Stiles gets the notification from Jay that their pictures have posted. Stiles scrambles to follow the link, his heart beating hard for no reason. The few seconds it takes for the site to load on his phone feel like an eternity. And then, suddenly, there he is. Stiles’ cheeks burn hot at the realization of which photo they chose, but even so he can’t stop his smile no matter how embarrassing it is. In the photo he’s smirking, smiling with eyes that are bright and mischievous at Derek just off camera, who had just caught Stiles’ discarded shirt.

It’s strange, seeing himself through someone else’s eyes. He looks... different, than he remembers himself. He so rarely has his photo taken, or considers how he looks, that the realization that he looks like a man as opposed to a gangly teenager, and a not unattractive man at that, surprises him. 

This in mind, Stiles rushes to the following picture, of Derek. It’s exactly the moment he suspected, but the capturing of it has made it somehow even more beautiful. Derek is fighting the urge to smirk, losing that battle with his arms crossed stubbornly over his chest. His body is beautiful - muscular and perfectly proportioned in Stiles’ opinion and he is prepared to fight anyone who thinks otherwise. But his posture and expression make him look younger, a little awkward and approachable maybe, for his inability to play tough, the smile he’s so resistant to poking through.

Stiles wants this framed and mounted on the ceiling over his bed. He hopes Derek won’t be too embarrassed by it.

He’s interested in scrolling through the rest of the site, but the next photo stops him dead in his tracks. It’s of the two of them. One Stiles didn’t expect. It’s from after Derek’s shoot, when Stiles had thought they were done and Derek had faked him out with a tease about his shirt. Stiles is looking at Derek with an expression he didn’t know his face could make - a devilish, bright sort of thing, pure mischief with an edge of warning. And Derek is looking back at him with... pure affection. He’s smiling, enough that you can see his dimples. They’re standing so much closer together than Stiles would have thought. T captured a private moment, something real between them, and they hadn’t even realized. He and Derek, they look good together. There’s undeniable chemistry and there’s something about seeing them together that twists his heart because they’re just... right. Whatever they are, it’s real. Stiles smiles so hard his cheeks hurt, so glad he let some stranger talk him into this bizarre experience and glad Derek was willing to go through it with him.

At the bottom of the image it just says, in small white italicized font: Stiles and Derek

It’s a very nice picture.

.

**Author's Note:**

> Any mistakes, grammatical or otherwise, are mine and therefore I take ...moderate responsibility.


End file.
